Stoneman

Let me hearken backFor a momentTo a moment when celestial songsPlayed on the wind like mall music—Holy vibraphonesAnd blessed B3sFollowing us from venue to venue.

Hearken back to a momentWhen any incidental noiseDemanded a sacred definition.

Hark, the angels sing.Songbird notes cutting a melodyOut of the ceaseless motoringAlong city streets,Doubtless an echo of the divine,As were wind chimes,And the children’s laughter from two yards over,And church bells, naturally.

To the most common cacophonyWe would ascribe great magnitude,As though all of it—The rustle and swish,The thump and creak—Were coded intelligence.

Let those with ears to hear…

Old sounds and old wordsHave no frequency in the sonosphereOf a world where the loudest soundsAre the rip of a bulletAnd the lament of a vilomahAnd the lambasting of PR peopleIntent on stripping meaning from the criesOf those left behind.

And maybe they are right to do so.What supernatural messagesAre there to be heardIn anguish?What truth does chaos bring?What parable is inThe explosion and the bang,The confusion and the cries?Can we hear GodIn the splatter and the thud,The scramble and the drop?

Let those with ears to hear...

Hearken backFor a momentTo a momentWhen voicesNow silentOnce spoke.

The good mornings and farewells,The ‘I love yous,’The thanks they offered,The dreams they declared,The fears they whispered,The arguments they made,The space they filled.

Hark, the silence rings.Worse, the claptrap musingsOf PR peopleWho hear God in chambers and rounds.The ones whose JesusBears armsExit their echo chamber,Rank and fileSinging the praisesThey hear in sounds of terror,Spreading the messageThey make out in-between bullets.

Let those with ears to hear…

I will hearken unto songbirds and silence,The sounds that are and the ones that aren’t.I will listen,But the message,If it is there,If it depends so deeply on my earsTo understand it,Can find me.